Facing up
by little-warrior
Summary: A short drabble on what if Rufus had really been in his office when it got hit by the energy blast.


_A short drabble on what if Rufus had really been in his office when it got hit by the energy blast. _

_I'm not native speaker, so, if you find any mistakes, I'd be glad to correct them._

_None of the Characters are mine, I am not making any money with this story nor am I intending to._

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Facing up

When the blast came, he turned to the windows, surprised by the sudden light. He saw it brightening up and then, suddenly, the glass splintering, flying towards him. He didn't have the time to even wonder what had happened before the blazing breath of the explosion reached him and time seemed to stop. The scorching air burned his faced, his skin blistered, burned away, he felt his hair torching, his clothes blasting into fire. Around him, computers melted, plants coaled away under the fiery breath and before he realized pain, the power of the explosion reached him, lifted him high up into the air, blew him through the burning room, smashed his body against the wall and onto the ground. He saw the room burning through closed lids, knew he, too, was ablaze and the air he breathed was on fire.

If it hadn't been for his pet, they would have never found his body in the burning oven, once an office. The loyal animal had followed into the fiery hell when they came to save him. It was it who found its master. Or rather what was left of him. It just had the shapes of a human, between all the burning rubble, in flames.

If that burned lump hadn't been Shinra's president, no one would even have tried. Despite all of the animals begging. They would have just put a bullet through the beasts head and maybe its master's and left them to burn.

But he was Shinra's president and they took him, even though nearly his entire skin was burned away.

There wasn't as much as a breath in his body when Tseng got him up.

They said he'd die even before the first cell of his skin could multiply.

But he fought.

And still he died.

They got him back and placed the culture of skin on the burned flesh. Yet they never thought his body still had the energy to take up the skin.

And he died for the second time that night. The green pulse just slipped into a green line, only to come back with one weak beep and Tseng dared only to breath when a second peak came. He breathed again after the third and after the fourth, there was a fifth. Weak, always fluttering away again, put a pulse.

They never thought he would live through, but after three days they said he was out of the woods.

They never thought his skin would grow back that perfectly. That the body would look as unmarked and clean wherever there were muscles and tissue to shape the skin into a human body.

It took him ten weeks to come back, mind puffy from morphine, and Tseng standing at the end of his bed.

"We were able to save you eyes, Master Shinra", they told him.

But not the rest of his face.

They excused themselves, claiming the face had been most affected by the fire. That there had barely been any muscle left. And, in order to save his life, they had had to grow the skin quickly.

People had always commented that he had a beautiful scull. It didn't look beautiful at all just covered by skin with five holes in it. Two for the ears, two for the nostrils and one where his mouth had been.

Seeing his image, he turned his lidless gaze to Tseng.

"Find me someone who looks like I used to look."

The loyal Turks needed three weeks to find an eighteen year old with short, blond hair, nearly starved. Ironically, they had saved him from being beaten to death because people thought it was him.

He studied the face on the other side of the glass panel. Studied the blond bangs. The nose, the lips, the ears. That face - it wasn't perfect. But it would perfectly do.

"I want his face."

They begged his pardon.

"I want his face. Transplant it."

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_Yes, I know it's not exactly scientifically correct… he would have most likely died of CO-intoxication first and above all. And it's not quite that possible to survive with those burns and… well, just put it down under poetic licence. Please review!!!_


End file.
